“You’ve spoken often about how hard it was to do. I have no doubt you’re able, but think of the jobs you had. Writing stories, selling ads, running the printing press, collecting on money owed you, paying out money you owed others. You had a paper route. You had to attend events and report on them. I’m sure you’re good at it, but do you really enjoy it? Would you pick that to do for the rest of your life if it wasn’t the only job you’ve ever had, the only work you know?”
Deb opened her mouth to yell at him. It was insulting. Of course she wanted to—wanted to— Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it. She wondered if he heard it.
He went on quietly, “It’s in some ways as if the father who pushed you into that job at such a young age is still with you, still pushing. You don’t have to run a newspaper if you don’t want it, Deb. You can choose a life for yourself.”
“Let’s ride on.”
Trace didn’t let go of her reins right away.
“I need to think. Is it possible that what I’ve thought of as showing the world I did everything on my own is letting my father rule me from the grave?”
“You can have all the time you need to think, but don’t fetch yourself a ride on that wagon train until your thinking’s done. Springtime will be soon enough, surely.” Trace released her reins, and they turned their horses so they were riding along again.
Nodding, Deb tried to hide her relief. She really didn’t want to leave him, not so soon. “Yes, you’re right. I can wait for spring.”
Just saying the words lifted a weight off her heart.
“There’ll be plenty of room for you. I expect by the time we quit this chasing around looking for outlaws, the bunkhouse will be finished. The trails will be snowed shut, and the men and I will have long idle hours after the evening meal. We could make a gathering out of reading most every night.”
“I’d like that. Where are we going now?”
“Today we’ll reach the north shore of Lake Tahoe. I’ll take you up a narrow trail to see it. There’s a likely spot to look down from one of the mountains that rim the lake. We can’t dawdle, though. I hope to get home today yet.”
“Let’s pick up the pace then so we end up at home all the faster.” Deb kicked her horse into a gallop, and she and Trace rode in silence for a long stretch.
Trace felt an itch at the back of his neck. For the first time he wished he’d brought Wolf along. But he’d taken him to Sacramento, and neither his dog nor the people there were one speck happy about it.
He saw Black’s ears twitch. A twig snapped. Nope, not a twig. A gun being cocked.
Trace yanked on the reins and crashed Black into Deb’s horse, veering them straight toward the woods. A bullet whistled so close, Trace could feel the heat of it.
“Kick your feet out of the stirrups!”
He felt more than saw Deb obey and launched himself off his horse. He tackled her off the back of hers, fell with her to the ground, and rolled hard up against a huge stone.
Another bullet split the air. Black reared. The mare whinnied, then both horses tore off at a full gallop. Trace used the horses’ frantic bodies as a barrier and moved.
He shoved Deb down flat on her belly, then surged forward, crawling on his elbows and pulling her along with him. A bullet pinged off a boulder just inches above their heads.
Trace got them behind a man-high rock just as another bullet shredded the leaves over their heads, then more hit alongside the granite barrier.
Three guns firing. Three men. The number of murdering outlaws they were hunting. Somehow they’d caught up to the only witness.
“Trace—”
“Shhh!” Trace spoke barely louder than a breath. “Stay with me. Stay low.”
He headed up the mountain, directly away from the boulder, and dodged between two trees that made an almost solid wall. He snaked along, hunkered down but moving. Deb kept up, silent but for her running footsteps. He could even tell she was trying to make her feet land quietly. She always did her best not to slow him down.
He heard the bullets firing back near the boulder. He heard shouts that weren’t words he could make out, but they sounded like the gunmen were on the move. Thinking their prey was pinned down.
A game trail barely big enough for a rattlesnake popped up in front of Trace. He turned at a right angle and plunged down the almost invisible path in the direction his horse had gone. Branches grabbed at them, evergreens clawing at their clothes. Trace did his best to shield Deb while racing on.
Black would come hunting Trace at some point. No idea about the mare, but horses were herd animals so she might stick with the stallion.
The bullets stopped. Trace heard quiet talk. Still no words were loud enough to make out, but the men were talking. They sounded like they’d reached the boulder. They’d made a run on that hiding place and saw no one there.
Any halfway-decent tracker would be hard on the trail Trace and Deb couldn’t help but leave. He picked up the pace, stood straighter, sure now they’d gone deep enough into the woods not to be visible from where the outlaws were down on the trail.
How to stop leaving tracks? Trace studied the ground as they ran. The game trail he’d taken was so narrow they might just miss it.
“We’ve got to get some space between us and them,” he whispered to Deb.
Connected only by their clinging hands, he felt her run faster.
Gunfire erupted behind them. Had they found the trail, or were they just blasting away at the area where they’d last seen their prey?
Driving forward, he watched for any opportunity to
